Of Teen Angst and Telepathy
by Bellpeppermustache
Summary: An AU in which Carrie befriends an ecentric newcomer, Geraldine. The two bond over their mutual woes as misfits and resolve to help each other survive High School, but is friendship enough to get them through the strange and traumatic events of junior year?
1. Chapter 1

It was early in the school year, barely a week had passed since summer vacation had ended, and Carrie was late for her second period study hall. She'd been delayed by some rowdy students who had pushed past her thoughtlessly, causing her to spill her books and study materials over a sixteen square foot patch of hallway. It took her the entire two minutes of between period time just to collect every scrap of paper that had flown loose, and then another minute to arrive at her destination. By the time she made it to study hall, the rest of the class was already seated. A cluster of girls in the front of the room giggled. Though they were quiet, Carrie could just make out, "Awkward Carrie's making a grand entrance." She lowered her head and made her way to her usual seat in the back of the room.

As she drew closer, she was surprised to find it occupied. In her place sat a peachfuzz-headed girl in a baggy blue sweatshirt and jeans that would have fallen down to her ankles, had it not been for the merciful intervention of a thick leather belt. The next desk over was still open, so Carrie sat down next to the stranger and began to arrange her things.

She had just cracked open her history textbook, hoping to find some material for next week's essay, when she heard a voice whisper, "Hey." After a few moments she heard it again, this time more aggressive. She looked over her shoulder to see the new kid leaning toward her, expectantly. "Huh," she said, barely making eye contact.

The new kid shuffled her chair a bit closer. "Hey, um, sorry to bother you, but, are you any good at math?"

She wasn't, so she turned her face away and made another attempt to read.

"Okay," said the new kid, disappointedly. "Sorry to bother you."

Now feeling rather guilty, Carrie leaned over. "No," she said, nervous that her whispering was too loud. "You're not bothering me. I'm just not that smart."

A grin crossed the kids face which, in conjunction with the shaved head, gave her the appearance of a Jack-o-Lantern. "Well, neither am I," she said. "So I guess we're both fucked."

Startled by the casual profanity, Carrie let out an awkward giggle.

"Miss White," barked the teacher, Mrs. Rossbeck. "You want to tell that joke out loud for the rest of the class?"

Carrie's face grew hot. "No, Mrs. Rossbeck," she said, shrinking back into her seat.

"I thought not," she continued, folding her arms. "Please keep the noise to a minimum. I didn't think I'd have to tell you that."

A few stray snickers issued from the front of the room. It was the cluster.

"You too," snapped Rossbeck, glaring at the group. They all looked down at their homework and pretended to be busy.

Carrie sat curled into a slouch, staring dumbly into her lap.

"Sorry about that," whispered the stranger. "I didn't know she was such a hard ass."

"I heard that," roared the teacher. "Mss. Geraldine Foster, I will give you one chance to apologize and behave yourself. Is that clear?"

"Yea," she said, sighing.

"And?"

"Sorry for what I said," she lamented, almost saterially. "I won't do it again."

"Good," said Rossbeck. "Less than a day at this school and you're already on thin ice." Then, the teacher turned her attention back to her paperwork.

Geraldine looked over at Carrie, whose face she could no longer see from behind her hair, and opened her mouth to speak. Before the words could exit her mouth, however, she thought better of it and decided to spend the rest of the study hall reading quietly.

When the bell rang for third period, Carrie got up, gathered her belongings, and started out the door to her next class. She thought she was the last person out until a loud rustling behind her prompted her to look over her shoulder at Geraldine, who was busy juggling her piles of books, paperwork, and personal effects. Just as she had gotten her arms wrapped around the whole mess, a single piece of paper slipped from her grasp, landing at her feel. Carrie heard her swear in frustration. She smiled a knowing smile and left for Gym.


	2. Chapter 2

It was the third period bell that woke Geraldine from the nap she didn't even know she'd taken. She lifted her face from the desk, now covered in a puddle of her own drool. "Shit," she whispered, rubbing her eyes. She tried to pick up her belongings, but like so many times before, became caught in a sort of acrobatics routine where she'd stack her things as neatly as she could, only to have them slide around precariously in her arms as walked. It would now be a race to see if she could get to her next class before the crumbling book tower fell apart. The task was made no easier by the fact that she was still fighting off sleep.

When she was finally ready to leave, she was surprised to find Carrie still seated at the desk next to hers. She was working herself into a frenzy, shuffling through her belongings over and over again. "Must have lost something," she thought before leaving for math.

Carrie had indeed lost something. Her history notebook, which contained the homework due that day, was nowhere to be found. She was certain that she'd brought it to school with her. She remembered packing it in her backpack. She looked down at her hand, which still had the traces of the paper cut one of its edges had given her that morning. But now, it was as if it had never existed.

She continued to search her desk and the area immediately surrounding it until she was forced to leave by Mrs. Rossbeck, who was none too keen on having the flustered girl clutter up the role call for her period three English class. And thus, she attended gym in a particularly sour mood.

"They probably took it," she though, bitterly, as she changed out of her gym clothes, still wet from a particularly exhausting game of dodgeball. She had a sore spot on her shoulder that would likely bruise, courtesy of Chris Hargensen. She rubbed it and then resumed stewing. "I'll get it back in a few days with 'Carrie White eats shit' all over it."

It didn't particularly matter who the "they" in question were. It could have been anyone in the study hall, as it had always been a popular pastime in whatever class she'd attended for her fellow students to find ways to mess with her without getting caught by the teacher. Last year, a classmate had managed to slip and entire can of bait worms into her dress pocket. She hadn't even noticed something was amiss until halfway through the next class, when, in search of a pencil, she unwittingly slipped her hand into the writhing mass. Her screaming was heard, and subsequently ridiculed, buy students halfway across the building.

Yes, she was sure she'd see her notebook again, and she thought with dread of all the vile things her fellow students could write, or slip between the pages, or smear over the cover.

The door of the locker next to hers flew open, smacking Jessica Upshaw in the forehead.

"Oooow," she whined. She whipped around and glared at Carrie. "Watch it, shit face."

"I didn't do anything," said Carrie, softly.

"Yea, you never do anything," sneered Jessia. "But weird stuff only seems to happen when you're around."

This was true. Misfortune seemed to creep up on people wherever Carrie went. Burst pipes, falling books, large, stable furniture suddenly toppling over. All of it was standard fare for any event she was party to, but she had always chalked it up to bad luck, probably the same bad luck that cost her her notebook that very morning.

As she left the girl's locker room for fourth period, she was startled at the sound of her name being shouted from down the hall. She quickened her pace, not daring to turn around and leave herself vulnerable.

"Hey," it called again. It sounded familiar, but she kept walking. "Jesus Herbert Christ," it called out in exasperation. "Carrie, it's me, Geraldine. I've got your book."

Carrie turned around to see Geraldine's wiry frame flailing down the hall after her, and let out a sigh of relief. She didn't trust Geraldine per se, but the girl was new to Ewen High School, and, therefore, not steeped in the culture that had caused her so much grief. She was safe, for now.

"Why were you running," asked Geraldine as she handed off the notebook. "Am I scary or something?"

"No," said Carrie, inspecting the pages for signs of vandalism. "I just thought you were someone else. Where was it?"

"Under your chair. I saw it when I had to run back to grab my jacket that I left."

She found everything to be as she'd left it, including her homework assignment, still present and perfectly legible on the first page after her class notes, and smiled. "Thanks Geraldine," she said, looking out from under her hair.

"Call me Jerry," she replied, with a playful swish of her wrist. "Rolls off the tongue nicer than Geraldine. Besides, I always thought Geraldine made me sound like a milk cow."

This elicited a giggle from Carrie, and Jerry walked away feeling that a good deed had been done.


	3. Chapter 3

The clock over the door read 9:12, and Jerry's seat was still conspicuously empty. Carrie had briefly thought about taking it for herself. After all, it was hers first. But, over the course of the first month of school, the two had settled into a pattern. Jerry would arrive at Mrs. Rossbeck's room first, secure her seat in the back of the room, and wait for Carrie, who rarely beat her to class, but seldom arrived more than a minute after. To break the pattern now seemed wrong.

Carrie's attention was drawn to the sound of footsteps in the hall. Although it was unlikely, given how late it was, that she would up at all, the girl held onto the hope that Jerry had finally arrived. After all, she was beginning to feel vulnerable on her right side.

Her hopes were dashed when, instead of the fuzzy capped face of her desk neighbor, George Clement appeared in the doorway. He'd been running errands for another teacher, who had already spoken to Mrs. Rossbeck to excuse his tardiness. George scanned the room and set his eye on the desk. Jerry's desk. He smiled as he took his seat and wasted no time before getting down to the task of making her profoundly uncomfortable.

"Hey, Carrie," he said flirtatiously, sporting a saccharine grin. He leaned in even closer. "I'm a lucky guy to get to sit next to you."

George was a handsome young man, and one whom Carrie might have been interested in had he not taken the same attitude towards her as many of her peers, that she was a pudding face, good for little more than a joke. He often made passes at her in the hall, whistles, dog howls, calling her "gorgeous," all delivered with an extra heavy helping of irony. This was no different.

"Carrie," he said, now in a whisper, so as not to catch the attention of the teacher. "How about we skip out of study hall, huh? I can take you out behind the building and show you some moves."

Carrie pushed her books to the right side of her desk in an attempt to block out George's mocking advances. He moved the books aside.

"Awe, don't be like that," he crooned. "You'll like it. I promise."

"No I wouldn't," she whispered, scooting her chair as far away as the legs of her desk would allow.

"What's the matter," he asked. "Scared Jesus will find-Ow!"

They both wiped around in confusion. Something had met with George's forehead at a very high velocity. On the floor a desk away, a small piece of densely folded paper came to rest. George noticed it and picked it up.

"What's going on," asked Rossbeck, raising her eyes from her book for the first time since the first bell had rung.

"Someone's flicking stuff at me," said George, holding up the improvised projectile.

Mrs. Rossbeck humphed loudly, put down her book, and stood up.

"This is a quiet study hall," she said emphatically. "Anyone who finds that too boring can go straight to the office. You got that?" A wave of nods spread through the room.

"Good," she said as she sat back down and resumed reading.

The room enjoyed a few minutes of true piece before the murmurings of students sharing answers or making plans for the evening cropped up. Once a comfortable backdrop of white noise had formed, George regained his boldness.

"Hey," hissed.

Carrie said nothing. She didn't even look up to investigate.

George tired again. "Hey, Carrie," he said, a little louder this time. Still no response. He took his pencil and held it by the lead tip, pointing the eraser end towards Carrie.

"Hey," he said again, this time while poking her with the eraser of his pencil. She jumped a bit, startled by the sudden sensation.

"Ooooooh," he said, suggestively. "I see you like getting poked."

"Mrs. Rossbeck," said a familiar voice, which came from the front of the room. It was Jerry. "George is being too loud."

"I can't hear him," said the teacher.

"Well, I can, and it's really distracting," replied Jerry.

"Have you ever thought of being less nosey and focussing on your work?"

Jerry folded her arms and sat back in her seat, defeated.

"I thought so," said Rossbeck, picking up her book.

This exchange, which failed to land George in any trouble, did at least buy another few minutes of quiet for Carrie, who rushed through her homework assignment, unsure of when she would again be interrupted.

She got about halfway through the questionnaire before he started up again, an impressive feat considering the detail required for some of the answers, and the fact that she was only left alone for a maximum of five minutes. This time, he cut to the chase.

"I'm gonna make you a woman, Carrie," he said, drawing out the word "woman" to an odd degree. "I'm gonna to take you out back and I'm gonna fuck you like an animal."

"Oooooh," whispered the boy in front of her. "Carrie's gonna get it oooooon."

Suddenly, George flinched. His hand flew to cover his forehead and he stood up. "Who keeps hitting me," he asked, irritably.

Carrie looked around too, trying to determine the origin of the projectile. Her eyes lingered on Jerry, who was busy shuffling a rubber band under her books. Once the evidence was hidden, she looked out the door in an effort to look casual.

"Enough," yelled Rossbeck, slamming her book down on the desk. "I don't know who the practical joker is, but if anyone throws one more of those stupid paper bullets, I'm going to write you all up." Rossbeck was a fan of collective punishment.

A series of huffs and irritated sighs rang out as the teacher's threat sank in. Now they had to be on their best behavior, so as not to be the one to ruin it for everyone else and earn the entire study hall's hatred. Even George straightened up and left Carrie alone, suspecting his behavior towards her had somehow led to the attack.

After class, Carrie decided to wait outside the door instead of going straight to gym. George winked at her as he passed. She looked away, but could hear him talking to his friends down the hall.

"Hey, she's really scared. It's like she thinks I'd actually try and fuck her." She could make out the laughter of the other boys, and then their voices were lost, drowned out by the din of hundreds of other conversations.

"You okay?"

The question startled her. She'd become so focused on George's words that she hadn't noticed Jerry standing next to her. "Ohuh," she said, looking up dumbly. "Yea. I'm okay. Why were you so late?"

"Dentist," said Jerry, flatly. "Hated it. So, to change the subject, you mind if I walk with you to gym?"

"Sure," Carrie replied, although her answer sounded more like a resignation than an invitation.

They walked in silence for a moment until Carrie finally spoke up again. "I know it was you," she said, grasping for anything that would break the uncomfortable silence. "That was pretty gutsy."

Jerry laughed. "Yea, I know. I'm a girl with balls." She paused. "I also happen to know what that shit's like. Guys used to pull it on me all the time. It's shitty."

"Yea," she said. "It's like it's not enough that they don't like you. They have rub your nose in it too."

"Exactly," replied Jerry. "Joke's on them though. I never wanted them in the first place. Can't tease me with something I don't care about."

Carrie looked puzzled. "But don't you want a boyfriend?"

"Not if they're all like that," she said. "Do you?"

Carrie thought for a second. "It's sinful," she said, finally.

"Well, maybe, but that's not what I asked. Do you want one?"

Again, she didn't reply right away. Then, almost inaudibly, she said, "I would like a boyfriend. Someday." She trailed off at the end of "someday," as if she was relating a dream she'd had that she couldn't quite remember.

Jerry didn't reply, except to let out a quiet "hmmm," to indicate that she was thinking. "Then, good luck finding a guy who doesn't have his head up his ass. They all seem to around here."

She chuckled in an attempt to mark her comment as a joke, but there was no indication that it had been taken as such. Carrie just sighed and looked down at her feet.

"It doesn't help that I'm not pretty," she said, sadly.

"Oh, fuck pretty," said Jerry, dismissively. "Fu-fuckin… Why does everything have to be pretty, anyway? Why can't you just look like a fucking human being? It's not enough to walk and talk and have a face. No, you gotta slap half a pound of rainbow bullshit on it before people will even look at you. Just look how you look. You'll be fine."

"But I'm not fine," said Carrie. "I'm really...not fine."

The bell rang for third period, and Carrie had to hurry to gym, lest she burst in while all the other girls were almost done changing and earn their ridicule. She thanked Jerry again for her study hall antics. Jerry replied with a casual "No problem," and walked away, but couldn't help but feel a little unnerved by the way the conversation had wrapped up. As much as she wanted to believe otherwise, there was indeed something "not fine" about Carrie White. She tried to work it out on her way to her class, but was unable to come to any solid conclusions.

"She seems harmless enough," she thought as she stood outside her third period math class. "She's probably just depressed or something." She took her seat while the teacher berated her for her tardiness, and her train of thought switched tracks away from Carrie White and onto the fact that her homework was unfinished. "Fuck."


	4. Chapter 4

It was October first, and the bell had not yet rung for first period yet. Carrie was at her locker taking stock of which books she would need before lunch. She felt a tap on her shoulder and nearly threw her armful of textbooks across the hall as she whipped around to face her assailant. When she looked, standing before her was a bald head painted black and white with skeletal makeup, eyes wide and mouth agape.

The skeleton relaxed and let out a heavy sigh. "Virgin Mary on a Vespa, Carrie. I almost died." She laughed a bit and then gave another sigh, this time less heavy. "So, happy Halloween first," she said, pointing to her makeup. "What do you think?"

Carrie looked confused. "Halloween's a month away."

"Well, it was yesterday, but not today," said Jerry, just shy of shouting. "Nope. Today is the start of Halloween season, and to celebrate, I'm going to wear this shit all day until someone holds me down and scrubs it off me themselves."

"Okay," replied Carrie, shrugging.

"What's wrong," asked Jerry, sensing her lack of enthusiasm. "Does it look bad or something? Like, I got a second opinion from my mom. It shouldn't be lopsided or anything."

Carrie shook her head. "No, it's not that. It's just that you're gonna get yelled at. That's all."

"Well, I'll take it off then, but I want to wear it as long as they let me. I love Halloween, and I'm not wasting a single opportunity to be festive."

Some girls passed them in the hall and giggled. Carrie could just make out the shadows of a snide remark, and she looked down.

"You sure that was it," asked Jerry.

"Huh," said Carrie, looking back up.

"You're super weepy. Seriously, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Jerry persisted. "Bull shit. What is it? You embarrassed?"

She shook her head.

"Did someone bother you before I got here?"

She shook her head again. "No," she said, and then paused for a moment. She was trying speak through the pranks. Every year, as soon as the leaves started to turn, everyone would get a burst of creativity that would be channeled into new mischief. Her house would be covered in eggs, toilet paper, and pumpkin guts from now until November. Spray paint if they were particularly bold. And Mama. She'd settle into a foul mood that would last until the last of the refuse had been thrown and meticulously cleaned from the siding.

She would have a special sermon for Carrie on Halloween. And for any trick-or-treaters foolish enough to come to the house, she's had her tracts, written especially for the holiday, about how Halloween is satanic and children that trick-or-treat go to Hell.

She blinked hard and coughed. "I just don't like Halloween very much," she said.

"Awe, that's too bad. You're gonna find me real annoying then, because I don't shut up about it."

Carrie tried to tell her it was alright, but the bell drowned her out.

"See you in a bit," said Jerry, as she disappeared into the roiling mass of students. Carrie nodded and hurried to her class.

At second period, she arrived to see Jerry sitting despondently in her corner, face as clean as the freshly washed chalkboard. She frowned deeply, and without looking up, she said, "Bunch of bah-humbugs didn't even let me get through history." She looked up dramatically. "They have no Halloween spirit," she said.

There was a bit of black makeup left around her ear. Carrie fixated on it, trying hard not to make it obvious.

"Should have known, I guess," said Jerry, slumping back in her seat. "Not like you didn't warn me." She leaned back in her chair until the front legs came off the floor. "So, you're not doing anything for Halloween, are you?"

She remembered the sermon. "Nope," she said. "Not a thing. Mama wouldn't let me."

"Why not," asked Jerry, tilting back a little farther, making Carrie nervous.

"She doesn't like Halloween either. Says it's Satan's holiday."

"Ah," said Jerry, nodding. "So I take it she wouldn't let you come hang out with me that day then."

"Probably not," she replied. The chair tilted even further.

"Well, if she eases up any, I want you to know that my mom and I always have a little party on Halloween. You're invited, but it's okay if you don't want to come. I understand."

"Thanks," said Carrie.

Jerry's feet left the floor, and she began to tumble backwards, but before she could throw up her arms in surprise, the chair snapped forward again, throwing her against her desk. "Fuck," whispered Jerry as she got her bearings.

Rossbeck sat up. "What was that," she bellowed.

Jerry thought for a moment, then replied. "Almost dropped my book."

The teacher frowned. "Well, be more careful," she said, turning her attention back to her paperwork.

The two were quiet for a moment.

"That was weird," said Jerry.

"Lucky you didn't fall," said Carry, wondering if this had been one of those moments, whether she'd done something.

"No shit," she said, chuckling a bit. "I never get that lucky."

"Anyway," said Carrie, "Thanks for the invitation. I won't be able to go, but thanks anyway."

"No problem," said Jerry, smiling.

"Also," she continued, "I thought your costume looked good this morning. You looked just like a real skeleton."

"No kidding," she said, her smile turning into a grin that took up her whole face. "I've been practicing that makeup for years. I'm glad it came out decent for once." She leaned back with pride, stretching her arms over her head.

Carrie tensed up again. "Um, Jerry," she said, pointing to the front two legs of the chair. "Don't do that."

Jerry laughed and pulled herself back upright.


	5. Chapter 5

The rain was coming down hard on the second Saturday in October, but Carrie elected that day to walk down to see Mrs. Garrison. The rain was dreary enough as it was, but her mother's cryptic prayers and eerie hymns in the background made the house almost unbearable. Mrs. Garrison, at the ripe old age of eighty-six, was not the most exciting companion, but her soap operas, as well as her frequent commentary and overall cheery attitude, was a much preferable alternative to Margaret White.

Clutching her umbrella, she walked down the street several blocks until she reached the familiar white-painted porch of the Garrison house. The old woman's wind chimes still swung in the autumn breeze, painting the air with their wistful chords. Alongside the porch were several bundles of corn stalks, along with decorative baskets filled with festively colored gourds. She climbed the stairs and folded her umbrella, shaking it out so as not to create a puddle in the old woman's mud room.

She could hear the din of the television inside the house, most likely "You Guessed It," one of the major game shows that she was known to watch between episodes of "The Weary Son" and "Life of the Wealthy." Carrie lifted a pudgy index finger to ring the doorbell and then waited a moment for the door to open. There was no response. She worried a bit. Mrs. Garrison lived alone, having lost her husband to cancer almost a decade ago. She was still sharp and agile, but nonetheless vulnerable. She was also slightly hard of hearing.

Carrie heard the clanking of dishes from the kitchen and let out a sigh of relief. She pressed the doorbell twice in succession, hoping that it would catch her attention over her television. This time, Carrie heard the distinct sound of Mrs. Garrison yelling, "On my way. Hold your horses," as she hurried to the door.

It opened to reveal a small woman dressed in light blue cotton pants with a plain lilac t-shirt. She stood almost half a foot shorter than Carrie, but her presence was enough to push her back a good foot.

"Why, Miss. Carrietta White," she said, jovially, crossing her arms. "What brings you over here in such rotten weather? Doesn't your mom's TV get soaps just like mine?" The corners of her crepe-paper thin lips curled into a smile, which faded at the sight of Carrie's withered posture.

"Mama doesn't watch TV," she said, her eyes flickering downward. "I'm not bothering you, am I?"

"No," said Mrs. Garrison, pausing briefly. "No, not at all. Come in." She motioned for Carrie to follow her as she went back inside. Carrie gave her umbrella a final shake before propping it against the chalk-white painted radiator to dry. The inside of the house was quite warm, and would have been unbearable on a warmer day. However, after walking in the rain, it felt good.

"Want a cup of tea, Carrie," asked Mrs. Garrison from the kitchen.

"No, thank you," she replied, plopping herself down onto the overstuffed couch. She sank into the cushions, and for a moment felt she'd melt straight through the bottom. After a few minutes, Mrs. Garrison joined her, placing her cup of tea down on the coffee table in front of her, along with several small butter cookies.

The credits were still rolling from "You Guessed It," and, unless the channel had changed their schedule, "Life of the Wealthy" would be up next. It wasn't a particularly intelligent show. Most of the characters were shallow and unpleasant. However, Carrie liked watching it, if only to daydream about what she would do if she'd been born into such wealth.

This week's episode featured the family's eldest son nearly killing himself after drunkenly crashing his luxury car. His parents were desperately trying to cover up the accident to avoid a scandal. This attitude was so foreign to Carrie, whose mother demanded that she confess and repent of even the most trivial wrongdoing. Obviously, the characters were excessively permissive with their wayward children, but she couldn't help but feel just a bit jealous.

She sunk a little deeper into the cushion and began eyeing Mrs. Garrison's cookies. Just a few of them couldn't do too much harm, she thought. After all, it would almost be rude not to eat something since the old lady had offered.

Three hours, two sleeves of butter cookies, and one mild stomach ache later, Carrie decided it would be best to call it an afternoon and go home. The rain was just a fine mist now, a stroke of luck that was uncertain to last long. She picked herself up from the couch and drowsily made her way to the door.

As she reached for her umbrella, her eye landed on a wicker basket filled with miniature pumpkins. She picked one up and turned it in her hands. The skin was somewhat lumpy, but vibrantly colored.

"You can have it if you want."

Carrie looked up, startled. How someone of Mrs. Garrison's age could move so quickly was beyond her.

"Oh, uh…Sure," she said with a nervous laugh. She stuffed the pumpkin in her pocket and thanked the old woman, whose response was to "Oh," and wave her hand dismissively.

"It's nothing," she said.

The two exchanged pleasantries before parting company. On her way home, Carrie spent a considerable amount of effort trying to decide the best way to hide the pumpkin on her way to her room. Mama was sure to be in the living room, praying or sewing, or listening to her records, and she'd surely want her to come and join her. The pumpkin made an obvious bulge in her pocket, so Mama would most likely be curious as to what it was.

Perhaps it would be possible, she thought, to pass it off as a gift that she took to avoid being rude, and that she had just been waiting until she got home to throw it away. This would require her to make a beeline to the kitchen in order to sell it. Any hesitation on her part would look suspicious, and she didn't really want to throw it out. She wondered if it might not be possible to go back to the kitchen when Mama was out to retrieve it from the trash. Yes, she thought. This was good.

The next morning found Jerry at her locker. She wiggled her arm out of her book bag straps and slung the heavy mass into it without bothering to hang it up. Instead, she worked herself into a crouch in order to reach comfortably into her bag as it sat on the locker floor, and began to shuffle furiously through the crumpled papers that spilled from its mouth. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw two stockinged feet, cut off at the ankles by the blue hem of a long dress.

"How are you doing, Jerry," came Carrie's voice from some five feet above the stocking ankles.

"Fucked upside down," she said without looking up. "You?"

Carrie craned her neck to look into the locker. If Hell had lockers, she thought, they would look like this one. "I'm alright," she said. "What's going on?"

"Can't find my damn English essay," she said, casting aside a handful of crumpled notes. "I swore I put it in here somewhere."

"Well, when you're done looking, I got something for you."

She immediately stopped her search and looked up. "What is it?" She could now see that Carrie was holding something behind her back. She smiled shyly and looked away. "It's nothing big," she said. "I just thought you'd like it."

From behind her back, she pulled a small pumpkin. In its flesh was carved a sloppy but distinct jack o'lantern grin.

Jerry held out her hand to take it. "Did you make this," she asked.

"Yea," she replied. "It's not that good, but I've never made one before. The old lady I visit sometimes let me have one that she'd put out for decoration. It was a bit of a puzzle to get it past Mama, and I had to wait until she went to bed to carve it." She looked down at the lopsided smile and sighed. "I would have liked to have made it a bit nicer, but I didn't want to push my luck going downstairs to grab a knife, and the only thing I had in my room that was any good was a pair of scissors."

Jerry smiled and stood up. "Well, you know what," she said. "That's dedication. Thanks. I shall treasure it."

She took the pumpkin and placed it on the top self so that its face was looking out towards the hallway. However, as she was about to set it in its place, she noticed a piece of lined paper sticking out ever so slightly. She grabbed it and looked it up and down. "Well, ain't that just something," she said. Looking over at Carrie, she held up the paper. "You know what this is," she asked.

"Not really…?"

Jerry pursed her lips until her mouth was just a straight slit across her face. "This," she said. "Is my English essay." She looked down at the page. "And you know what else?"

"It's not done," suggested Carrie.

Jerry nodded. "Bingo," she replied.

Carrie tried to think of something consoleing. "You could do it in the second period," she offered.

"Yea. I'll probably just do it then," said Jerry. "I'm not worried about finishing it or anything. I just could have sworn I did it last night."

"Oh," said Carrie. "That's weird."

"Yea, it's a big old mind fuck, but at least I found it." She looked up at the pumpkin as it grinned sarcastically down at her. "You know, on second thought," she said, reaching for it, "I think I'll bring it with me." She slipped the orange fruit into her jacket pocket. "Moral support, you know."

Carrie didn't understand, but was glad to see that her offering was appreciated. The bell for first period rang, and she turned to wave goodbye. As she walked away, lifted her chin and flashed her another grin just like the one carved into her pumpkin.


	6. Chapter 6

The day after Halloween was mild and sunny, unusual for this point in the fall when rain showers, mixed with intermittent snowfall were commonplace. However, the air inside Ewen High School had a noticeable chill as Jerry made her way down the hall to her second period study hall. Ever since Monday, she'd noticed more and more eyes on her as she went about her business. She'd thought she was becoming paranoid, but today, the tension from her fellow students was unmistakable. She noticed two girls whispering to each other while looking cautiously over their shoulders at her, and her heart dropped. It was happening again.

She arrived at Mrs. Rossbeck's room, took her seat, and laid down on her desk, her face buried in her folded arms. She's begun to feel ill and thought that closing her eyes would help, but the heat from her breath suffocated her and made her feel worse. With a heavy sigh, she sat back up and grabbed a book out of her bag, hoping to at least get a little reading done for English.

Carrie sat down without any acknowledgement from Jerry, and although this unsettled her, she decided it would be best not to bother her about it. In all likelihood, she thought, it was homework related, in which case, she would need to concentrate. She took her own assignment out and began working on it until she noticed Jerry put her book aside and lay back down on her desk.

"You okay," she asked.

Jerry's fuzzy head shook back and forth in reply.

"Oh." This was all she could think of. She had never before seen Jerry in a state other than that of profound okayness, and the change disturbed her.

She considered her next course of action carefully. From her bag, she removed a small bag of mint candies and held them out towards her despondent desk buddy, nudging her with her knuckles to get her attention.

Jerry raised her head slowly and looked straight through the candies to a spot on the floor. "What's this?"

"Just some mints," said Carrie, softly. "They might make you feel better."

Jerry looked up at her blankly and took the bag. "Thanks," she mumbled, before putting her head back down.

"Wait a second," she said, suddenly sitting back up. "I forgot!" She began rummaging through her bag in search of something. Upon finding it, she turned around and, with a smile, deposited it on Carrie's desk.

"It's some leftover halloween candy. Kids didn't take it all, so we have a ton."

Carrie took it and put it aside. "Thanks," she said. "But," she hesitated, "I thought you were sick."

"Nah, I'm not sick," she replied. "I'm just worried about some stuff."

"Worried," asked Carrie, quizzically.

"Yes, Carrie. I do, occasionally take things seriously enough to worry about them," she replied with an eye roll.

Carrie retreated. "I didn't mean it like that," she said.

Jerry nodded. "I got ya," she said, her demeanor now closer to normal. "Yea, I got some drama to sort out too, as it turns out. Hope you weren't looking for me to be all fun and games."

Carrie shrugged. "I don't really expect much at all," she said. "I just want to make sure you're alright."

Jerry was quiet for a moment. "Well, I wouldn't exactly call everything 'alright,' but thanks… Also…" she let out a heavy sigh. "I want to tell you something."

"Okay."

She took out a piece of paper and began to write on it, pausing here and there to consider a word or phrase, and then continuing on. To Carrie's surprise, it took up a whole page, and then half of the back.

Once she'd finished, she folded it, careful to conceal all of the writing in the folds. "Here," she said, handing it over. "Don't read it until you get home though." As she said this, her mood seemed to drop again, and her eyes turned back to the ground.

"Is it bad," asked Carrie.

"I don't know," she replied. "That's got to be up to you."

Confused by the cryptic nature of the exchange, she simply nodded and placed the note under the cover of her notebook.

She went straight to her room upon arriving home. Her mother had not arrived home from work yet, leaving her free to read the note uninterrupted. She pulled it out from her bag and carefully unfolded it. She squinted at it a bit, as Jerry's handwriting was what many would bluntly refer to as chicken scratch, but she was soon able to make out the note.

_So, we've been rather chummy over the last couple of months, and I don't know what you've heard yet, but there is a rumor going around about me. I haven't had anyone confront me about it yet, but I've heard some of the things people say when I walk past them in the hall, and I'm 99% sure I know what's coming. So, I thought that, if you were going to get the story from anyone, it should be me first. _

_I'm a lesbian._

_There. Now you know. And before you ask, no, I'm not into you like that. I just like you as a friend and have no intention of hitting on you or being creepy or anything like that. _

_Of course, you're at liberty to do what you want with this information. Stop talking to me, take this letter and tape it up in the hallway for everyone to read, whatever. You can't do anything that hasn't already been done. _

_Of course, I would prefer if you still wanted to be friends, but that's not a call I can make for you. After all, if you were to do so, you'd probably get bullied just for hanging out with me once this shit really gets going, and I don't think you need more of that shit in your life. You have enough to deal with. _

_I just think you're neat, and I wanted you to know the truth about me before some other bitch put her spin on things. And if today is the last time we talk, I'll at least know why. _

This revelation was a bit of a shock, but also somewhat of a relief. In the time between study hall and her arrival at home, her imagination had been going wild over the possibilities of what her friend could have wanted to confess. This was tame in comparison.

She'd heard a few other students at Ewen High described as gay, along with other, less flattering terms, and knew roughly what it meant for Jerry to describe herself as a lesbian. Her knowledge, however, had its limits, since the one and only time she'd ever asked Mama about the topic, she was met with a glare so frightening as to make her regret her inquiry immediately. She was then subjected to a twenty minute sermon and interrogation as to how she came to be familiar with the dreaded subject, followed by thirty minutes of forced prayer, thankfully, not in the closet.

Since then, she'd never really thought much about it. Gay people were always far away, in clubs in big cities, or in communes in the middle of nowhere. Nobody she knew was gay, or at least, nobody that she knew she knew was gay, until now.

She didn't understand what the big deal was. After all, there were so many other things that had at one point received the same vitriol from Mama. Rock music, school dances, summer clothes, almost any aspect of modern teenage life was equally repugnant to her. It was unlikely that Margaret White would have deemed any of Carrie's fellow students pure enough to keep her daughter company, so this particular revelation didn't really seem to matter in the greater scheme of things. Why, she wondered, should this spell the end of their friendship? Who else was she supposed to be friends with, if not Jerry?

She skimmed over the note again. "You can't do anything that hasn't already been done…" She _must _have lost friends before, and as lively and spontaneous as Jerry was, Carrie couldn't remember a single time where she had spoken to anyone else at school for more than a second.

She was alone.

The thought stuck in her mind_, alone, _and for the first time, she realized that, more than anybody, Jerry understood her world by virtue of sharing this particular quality with her.

Carrie had to swallow hard to suppress the urge to cry. She didn't want to cry for Jerry, since it just didn't seem appropriate. Still, the urge remained, and wouldn't let up without an interjection of some kind.

"Fuck," she said aloud. Yes, she thought, that is better.

"Fuck," she said again, more defiantly. She didn't know if she could be a good friend, she'd had so little practice, but she knew that she could be a friend of some sort. She smiled at the thought of finally being of some importance to someone her own age.

Downstairs, she could hear the door open. Mama was home. She shoved the note back into her bag and headed downstairs to meet her mother at the door. She'd undoubtedly want her to sit with her while she listened to the vic and talked about the wickedness of her coworkers.

As she sat in her chair sewing, she felt unusually serene. She didn't even mind her mother waxing apocalyptic about the many sins she'd witnessed in town.

She'd get to see Jerry again tomorrow, she thought, and could tell her she wasn't going anywhere. Good. Good.


End file.
